


The Winter Jogger

by A_simple_lee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Reader Insert, Tickle fic, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:57:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_simple_lee/pseuds/A_simple_lee
Summary: Bucky swings by to visit you after a morning exercise session with Steve, but the Winter weather and his prosthetic make for a rather chaotic visit.





	The Winter Jogger

‘Good morning, New York! Today’s forecast for your area looks like a mix of light drizzle and freezing winds, so it’s gonna feel something like thirty degrees out there with a high of thirty-two around one pm-’

A shutting door and the noise of trainers drying off rain on a doormat calls your gaze away from the TV. It lands on Bucky, who’s clad in nothing other than a tank top, a hoodie, and gym shorts.

‘Buck, seriously?!’

Your friend pays you no mind as he toes off his shoes and strides past to pat you on the shoulder. His metal hand lands on your skin with a firm clap; it’s frigid, Manhattan’s December weather having seeped into the joints; you recoil with a yelp and a slap to his wrist.

'It’s cold out today-’ An understatement, given the temperature of his prosthetic. He’s walking behind the couch, but you don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning.

You blink, insulted.

'First - no fucking kidding, why do you and Steve go jogging in tanks? Second - is that arm good for anything apart from harassing people, namely me?’

Bucky collapses next to you on your apartment couch, and pauses. He goes to take the remote from you with his left hand, and you scramble away.

'First,’ he mimics, 'I had a hoodie. Second, you say that like pestering you isn’t a good thing.’

A beat.

'It isn’t.’ But you’re smiling. It’s hard to stay angry at someone who makes a hobby out of driving you mad. Whose hobby it is has recently become unclear. You hesitate, passing him the remote and wrapping your fingers around his freezing hand on route.

'Your arm’s cold, can’t you warm it up or something?’

'They didn’t give it a heating system, it’s an arm. It doesn’t need to be warm.’

'It does if you’re gonna stay for pizza tonight with Steve.’

'Alright, then.’ A blur of motion suddenly sees you trapped under Bucky with the forgotten remote on the carpet.

'Buck, no- we’ve talked about this!’

'Have we, though?’

'Don’t, I swear-’ Too late. His left hand has snaked up in the space between your hoodie and t shirt, and is now hovering patiently by your side.

'Don’t what?’

'No, I’m not falling for that, don’t you fucking dare-’

'Suit yourself.’ Bucky laughs, and suddenly knows no mercy. His hand whirrs into life with a flourish of fingers under your ribcage. Fingertips dart upwards to tickle the gaps between your rib bones, before swooping down - pausing to visit the spot at the back of your upper sides he knows drives you over the edge - to your stomach, hand forming a claw perfectly poised to wreak havoc. And oh, does it wreak havoc, ever-so-gently scritching at the sides of your tummy, and squeezing your hips, and spidering under your arms, till the ice-cold touch fades to background noise, so that all you know is the heat of a blush on your cheeks as you squirm and kick to no avail. You don’t want to escape, of course, though to admit such a thing - even to your best friend - seems nigh impossible.

'You’re the most ticklish person I’ve ever met, you know that?’ Barnes starts conversationally, as if you’re watching TV, as is supposed to be, and he is not tickling you to within an inch of your life.

'Whahat, apart from Steve?’

'Hmmm, nah. Not apart from Steve.’

'I-I thought we were friends!’ Tears of mirth cloud your vision at this point as giggle after giggle pours from your lips, only for more to be conjured from your shaking ribcage. Bucky, you realise, is far too good at this. Either that, or you’ve known him too long.

'We are. You’re helping me warm up my arm.’ He reasons, simultaneously running a circle around your navel with his thumb. It’s probably the former option, you decide.

'Not what I meheant!’ You have to pause to kick violently as he tasers your sides. 'Cahan’t you go easier on me for once?!’

He can’t.


End file.
